My name is not 'Him'
by Andy Magnuseth
Summary: I have a name. It's Mephistopheles. And you are Faust. And we have been doing this for far too long.
1. Our Tragical History

Here.

Here is here.

I sit in front of a warped television on a torn velvet couch, tortured with the accoutrements of what has been and shall forever be. The misery of the shamefully beautiful earth, and all I can do is watch as humanity crumbles to a fault.

The claws affixed to my wrist bones, weighty and connected with rusted iron screws, only serve as a reminder that I can do nothing to heal the suffering torment.

Perhaps you have read of my love.

Perhaps you understood.

In Heaven, I was known as Mephistopheles.

Now, fair humanity refuses to use my name...

I was watching as I am now, from the honeyed clouds above. I served my brethren well. But I watched my loves, my sweet adorations below, suffering in their own misery as they were plagued by death and love and pain and illness and hardship.

Oh, oh my dear Faust. He suffered the most of all.

I begged, pleaded with my Lord and Sovereign King to let me heal his torments. I left the Silver City with a heavy heart, intent on making Earth a mirror reflection of the Paradise above.

I was wrong. I was so wrong. And for such I became one of them, forever one of them, fated to spend the rest of my immortal days with the immortal suffering of a tortured soul, of my loves, of my true brethren, those who once praised my beauty, and now shrink away from me as I am Unholy in their eyes.

I only wanted to join them. To be with them. To love them.

My ever-gentle, tortured Faustus...

The good Doctor Faust sat, brooding over philosophical tomes. For many a year he had searched for happiness in books and philosophy and knowledge, but there was never enough. There was never an answer to his torment. In the end, in his futility, he turned to Alchemy for some sort of answer, searching the act of black magicks for some creative solution.

He fully criticizes the Bible as he contemplates his options. No RIGHTEOUS God would allow humanity such suffering through everyday practices, through the honorable pursuit of knowledge for the good of the people. The criticism of harmless relationships, of 'satan', when the so-called entity in question had only killed ten people throughout its ancient scripture, as compared to the ten thousand dead by God's own hand.

Though still, his wonderment was drawn by this idea that Man could be a God, that Man Himself could bend the universe around him to his own will through alchemic practices.

And so he researched for many a day, trying to find some sort of answer.

* * *

Their first meeting had Mephistopheles shy and sputtering. The object of his affection, that noble man who pursued truth in all-defiant logic and magic. Why had he decided to appear while Faust had tried a spell? Why did he try to give Faust that hope that the world belonged exclusively to him?

Mephistopheles had wished to give him the world. To fill this poor man's life to the brim with love and hope and warmth. He wished so dearly for this man to find happiness.

But this could not begin this way, no. The dark Spirit would not allow such ideas of Godlike abandon to sway Faust: the Lord Himself was enough to have to contend with, and this tragic dark angel would not allow Faust to become the same.

So Mephistopheles drew him into a slumber, and perhaps incurred the idea that this was a dream.

But with gentle fingertips resting on soft raven locks, he knew he would come back for Faust. Forsake the rest, this gentle soul was the one for which he would forfeit Heaven Itself.

* * *

Their second meeting was shy and timid on both ends this time, Mephistopheles lingering at the door with baited breath and a timid manner, waiting until the third time Faust implored him to enter before gathering the nerve to open the door, blaming it on mystic regulations so Faust would not find him quite so ridiculous.

Timidly in manner but bold in fashion, the dark spirit entered, adorned in fantastical reds and resplendent golds, tied to the usual resplendence of ballet heels, which often begged many questions of how the poor being was able to perform the usually perfunctory task of walking while frozen en pointe. Faust narrowed his eyes distrustfully at this garish display of sexual nature, but this was sexual in no means. Mephistopheles was an angel of the most painful of dances, pointe ballet, and was forced to remain en pointe to prove this- pointe. Yay for Pun Hell.

Faust was even more endearing in person, and though Mephistopheles would have given him every pleasure of the world freely, the Doctor demanded to know the price of this, vehemently demanding one. So the fallen angel offered him one.

"Sign this contract in your blood, and give me your soul when all is done."

How was Faust to know that this was the only way that those rejected from Heaven could marry? The man signed gladly, thinking it an equal trade.

* * *

Mephistopheles had timidly led him through the world, showing him all of the world's pleasures, of love, of passion, of joy.

However, ever since that moment when he was thrown from Heaven, every person could see the holy rejection clearly, confusing him constantly for the devil and a demon and a sinner, and they voiced their opinions as such. This did not help him one bit in wooing Faust for himself, as the Doctor had begun seeing him as a sick bastard from the moment they met, and as such was only growing more distant.

It was an unbalanced marriage, Faust was taking advantage of the dark Angel, of every pleasure the androgynous spirit offered him, while ignoring the feelings and thoughts of the new companion. To him, Mephistopheles was a servant, a slave he had purchased with his own soul.

He was not aware that he had already captured the soul of Mephistopheles, and that what he was doing made the trade ridiculously uneven.

* * *

Soon, it had all come to an end. The one moment of pure unbridled joy that Faust experienced, with another woman no doubt, instead of with the dark, jaded, scarred spirit that had given this opportunity to him, brought it all to a screeching halt.

This one moment had made Mephistopheles happy as well, so happy to see Faust finally getting some sort of enjoyment out of life. The tragic spirit had given all of itself, all of its freedom, everything that Mephistopheles could have possibly given of himself just for the sake of this one moment of joy for the Faust that had ensnared his very soul.

This made God very unhappy.

Those thrown from Heaven were not supposed to be happy.

So God did the only thing that He could think to do.

God took Faust to Heaven, and left Mephistopheles alone and abandoned.


	2. Not Heaven Anymore

"I see I am in Heaven. I thought I was to go to Hell."

Gabriel gave the man a pointed look of fury. This man was an idiot.

"You stole the soul of an Angel. At such a rate, the Lord had to replace the lost Angel with another Soul. You."

"...What? No, I sold MY soul to..."

Raphael looked over from his buttered toast and orange juice at the two with their coffee. "...Mephistopheles used to live here. She left because she wanted you. There are always the same number of angels in Heaven, so God was pissed to lose one. So...you're here now."

Faust spat his coffee all over the glass table, the coffee mug clattering as it fell, and tumbled through the clouds into nothingness. "...SHE? Are...are you stupid? That was a MAN."

"...Yeah, tell that to every hermaphroditic angel here who chooses to be recognized as female. Tell that to God, who assigns them their spiritual gender." Gabriel piped up, sipping his own cream-and-sugar coffee while looking at Faust like he needed help.

"...Then I-" he started, but Raphael interrupted him. "-No, no. Only the original angels are hermaphrodites. Humans retain their gender."

Faust looked off into the cloudy abyss. He thought that Heaven was supposed to be nice and perfect and full of eternal pleasures. But it felt plain and empty, no different than Earth. "...Why is everything so dull here? I thought this was supposed to be a perfect Utopia."

"Oh, FUCK you, Faust." Gabriel spat, slamming his coffee mug down. "It WAS when 'Phisto was here. She was so adorable before she ever fell in love with you. She spun around all the time, she danced, she sang, she gave her love to everyone. But then she saw your pain, and something in her died. She stopped twirling en pointe, she stopped singing, her voice broke whenever we asked her to sing, and she wept and wept. She ruined the whole mood, and God was even forced to put her in ballet heels so she would stay en pointe, but even then she just sat on the clouds and watched you wallow in your own selfish self-pity."

The doctor's jaw dropped, looking down at the clouds as if he could look through them to see underneath, but as he was originally human, he could not. "...Then what the hell did I sign?"

"...A marriage contract for those who can't marry under God. Those banished from Heaven are not allowed a marriage under God." Gabriel answered.

"...Why?"

"...Because they've sinned against God."

"...How?"

"...Because one is to serve the Lord."

"...And the only path to serving Him is directly? Not through helping others?"

"...That is why there's more than one human to do that."

"...But nobody else liked me."

"...WELL, FUCK, I WONDER WHY!" Raphael shouted, whirling around from his half-eaten toast. "You never fucking shut up, you're completely ignorant of other's needs, and you're a complete dipshit! I don't even understand why you're here in the first place! You don't DESERVE Heaven, and you're making it a Hell just by being here!"

Faust visibly recoiled, hurt by the statement. "I- I- I didn't even know that he- _she_-...liked me..."

Gabriel looked down through the clouds, his lower lip trembling. This was stupid and painful, and Mephistopheles had been stabbed in the back for loving too much. Watching the poor thing in suffering, he abandoned his coffee and fell to the cloudy floor to weep as he watched his best friend in impenetrable loneliness. Raphael stood to comfort his friend, stroking a wing gently as his own fluffed out angrily. "Now look what you did."

"...I want to go back."


	3. New Self

However many times Professor Utonium walked around the laboratory in his basement, musing over his science textbooks, looking for a way to cure the nightmare that was the crime and terror of Townsville, he could not shake the feeling that he had been here once before. That indescribable feeling of being watched, the unshakeable feeling that there was no higher power than himself to fix the terrors of the society he lived in now...

...that feeling that every man contained within himself the power to change the world, that only the self could change the surrounding.

He almost laughed as he thought of a word for the most current idea that rested within his head.

Alchemy. HAH! The idea itself was older than dirt. That the production of something with science, the production of a real, living, breathing creature with something other than the power of 'God'...

...But the items of the recipe were from a simple nursery rhyme.

He doubted that it would work normally, but all of his studies, the science that had led up to this point seemed to prove otherwise.

Even as he grabbed his car keys and made his way up the steps, he failed to notice the faint shadow of a lithe spirit pushing a bulb of inky black, dangerous, fatal chemicals closer to the work place in which he would complete the culmination of his research, the creation of all female perfection. For he was lonely, and he so badly wanted a wife, unable to find a fit amongst the terrible, criminal women of this filth-ridden town, and had set in his mind to create one for himself.

* * *

Mephistopheles was alone for so long.

For years, the spirit had wished for company, love, family...everything that had been lost over the years. She...she? No. He. that was what Faust had seen the spirit as, a male, and He would take that gender identity to the grave if that was what Faustus had seen Him as, had wanted Him to be, and so that would be fine if she...

...She could never get used to it. The feeling of ballet, of dance, of flowers and femininity and softness still flowed through her veins, even if she had been thrown from Heaven and no longer deserved the title of Angel of Ballet, it was still part of who she was, the completely feminine act of beauty and grace that permeated the creature...

...Lucifer had taken her in, for a time, after the fall. But even he tired of her nonsense, the talk of dance, of grace, that flitting butterfly call that her hands would make as she arched her arms high above her head, twirling about on toes as if there were nothing hanging between those thin, taut legs.

The dancing drove him to madness, having watched it reminded him of his own expulsion, and in a fit of rage he had seized the ballerina and cut open those ballet heels, stuffing the toes with blades and glass so every tiptoe would hurt, would bleed, would punish. He had sealed those heels permanently on those legs, made it impossible to get away from that pain...

...and the arms, those horribly graceful fingers, he could not stand that either, mostly those hands, the pride of heaven...Lucifer had confiscated those too, secretly keeping them to himself so he would be able to comfort himself with those memories while those hands of the greatest Mephistopheles, once the most beloved of Heaven, would be replaced with repulsive bloody claws, screwed straight into the wrist bone so every movement in the way of dance would twist the bladelike screws further and further into skin...

...Even that was not enough, for then she began to spread that beauty through song, spreading that hopeless, terrible HOPE throughout the flames, making it less torture than it really was, and so he had seized that mouth and set it aflame with the hottest coals, burning the inside of the throat and burning those lips to the deepest charred black, and for that time the music stopped, the voice stopped, as it was even painful to talk, taking years and years for even speech to become possible once again, and when it did, the beauty of that voice was gone, mutated to that of a true demon of Hell.

Of course that body, now burned red and sensitive from the flames of Hell, would adjust to the pain, but while Mephistopheles remained in Hell, the pain would last and last and never cease.


	4. Creating Perfection

There was a place removed from space and time. An alternate dimension, resting somewhere beyond the realm of human comprehension, with walls that melted all the alternate universes around it together into glass portraits, memories, and vague images that rippled and shifted like a wave breaking on a shore of clear glass sand. Windows hung before these, opening to cool nothing breezes that chilled the skin in an uneasy way.

All the windows were closed at the moment, pink sheer slip-curtains hanging limply around them. There was shag carpet flooring, and it felt warm like cotton on fire underfoot. It was a deep crimson, and in the middle of the room there was one flickering TV set that displayed the goings-on in the unsuspecting, victimized city of Townsville.

In front of this television set rested an old, dilapidated pink couch- upon which rested a long, thin, very red figure.

It was Mephistopheles.

His skin was painted with black porcelain doll lips that stretched too far, and two very light pink porcelain doll blush marks, circles right at the high cheekbone, framing the pearly white cheshire grin. He had no hands. They had been brutally sawed off- or at least ripped off- and their replacement happened to be large lobster-like claws that were a dripping blood red. These were screwed straight into the wrist bone- or what was left of it, and the stain of ripped flesh and old blood still stained His lower arms darkly, like decorative gloves.

This- this demon- wore a thin, blood red pleather dress at the moment. It had sleeves that were white, sheer chiffon, and gathered tremendously. The chiffon completely engulfed everything up to the chin, and was fluffed in the back so tremendously that it reached the ears. There was similar gathered chiffon at the bottom of the leather dress, which ended just short of exposing some...VITAL parts. Then there was the very skintight thigh-high black pleather ballet boots, accentuating how small His feet appeared to be.

Draped over the couch like a lover, Mephistopheles slowly devoured a single chocolate-covered strawberry that was poised on the end of a stick. The couch creaked as He leaned forward, staring at the screen with interest.

There was Professor Utonium, busying himself with the futile attempt at human transmutation. That was, to say, he was trying to create human life from simple ingredients and the power of science. Not that alchemy was unheard of, but...sugar, spice, and everything nice wasn't exactly a recipe for anything more than ginger snaps.

In the back of His mind, He felt two children arguing. The two children were separate perspectives for how He had imagined the three 'perfect' little girls turning out in His mind. He found Himself unawares of what was going on- perhaps the three perfect little girls were going to be created after all. It troubled Him to no end, and He wanted a part in that creation process- not sitting at the sidelines, watching it happen. Still, Mephistopheles leaned forward to watch that little television that would show him what was going on.

Before Him was displayed the Professor, mixing the inert ingredients together. However, He leaned forward as He saw the lab monkey, Jojo, running from place to place, breaking everything.

And then the destructive little chimpanzee ran towards the Professor. This caused Professor Utonium to lurch dangerously towards the other chemicals he had nearby...The handle of the spoon he was mixing with smashed the Chemical X, and the ominous black mixture completely emptied into the concoction. The resulting explosion was dazzling.

He smiled. He knew that moving that particular container of chemicals was a good idea last time He was there. In fact, He had been the one responsible for the chemical's creation- It's amazing the things people won't think of if you happen to leave some mysterious, unlabeled notes on their desk with no name that could possibly be the scientific breakthrough to get them the Nobel Peace Prize...or something along those lines.

He slowly watched the aftermath unfold, gently removing the screws from the wrist bones, as the claws were impeding Mephistopheles' ability to lean forward on the couch comfortably. The lab assistant Jojo- who had a hand in the creation of the girls- was now experiencing the unfortunate side-effects of exposure to the chemical X. He had not planned that, but it was very interesting to watch- the chimp was now gaining vast amounts of knowledge from the chemical reaction.

The girls had turned out just as He imagined they would. Perfect. He was alone now, and tossed and turned on the couch, yearning for even the semblance of company.


	5. Possessions

Mephistopheles found a small rubber ducky under the couch, which He held up by gently squeezing the thing between His two wrist-bones. It squeaked indulgently, and He smiled insanely, crazed with loneliness. "Why, hello. Who left you here? No matter, no matter. I think I shall call you Mr Quackers. Because the first thing you did was quack at me. Do you like that name?" Another squeak as He fumbled the rubber duck, and it fell to the floor. He looked darkly at it. "Now LISTEN HERE. You have no business arguing with me. If I say your name is Mr. Quackers, THAT is what it will be. Got it?" He spoke deeply and darkly, stomping on the duck. It let out a long and pitiful squeaking wail.

"That's right. I name things around here. Not some chump who doesn't even give her a proper name, but goes 'Buttercup, because it also starts with a B!' I mean, really, do you want that told to you when you're just born?" *squeak* "I thought not. Now let's go get some more strawberries."

He looked sadly back at the screen, knowing the girls would never know Mephistopheles properly, because He was not there, was not part of their creation. He only created the circumstances possible, and that was not enough. He never even got to name them what He wanted them to be named. Not that the Professor would have liked that, but still- Bubbles? Was that even a real name outside of a strip joint? Rage boiled deep inside Him, and hot bitter tears trailed their way down His cheeks, streaming mascara and ruining whatever make-up was on His face.

*Squeak?* "It's nothing, Mr. Quackers. Nothing at all."

* * *

Professor Utonium was more than surprised when the result of his experiment, this human transmutation, turned out to be three little children, mere five-year-olds. Not that his accomplishment wasn't entirely thrilling and satisfying, but it was just slightly unexpected. He would have to take care of them, think of names for them, would have to put them through school...It was a bit more responsibility than he actually wanted, but he was prepared for that, entirely welcoming the idea.

What really shocked him was that they had superpowers.

They were the exact demonstration of power that he had been looking for, the answer to his question of whether or not there was a God, and this answer was that he was God. No, BETTER than God, he had created something better than humanity, an improvement upon it, and this creation was his. His alone.

Therefore, they would love him and he would love them, naming them Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup, and they would prove to the world that Utonium was truly miraculous, and that his daughters...no, his CREATIONS...they were truly greater than humanity, they were more entirely angels than anything, and he would protect their existence from all that opposed this, all that threatened this perfection.

Especially any demon that happened to cross their paths.


	6. Octi

"Oh, don't cry Bubbles, I'm here for you..."

Mephistopheles would not know until years later how true that statement, produced from jest, would become...

* * *

Bubbles, sitting on the one singular bed that the Powerpuff Girls were expected to share, heard a voice, unexpectedly gentle amidst all the fighting, call out to her.

She spun around, and saw Octi. Octi was a singular voice that knew her troubles, in a sea of turbulence and chaos, the unending fighting of her sisters, and that eternal threat of darkness. Bubbles craved this beacon of hope, a singular soul that would soothe her in this chaos. And so she listened to the softly-whispering force that was secretly the voice of doubt and turmoil itself, the disguised mischief of the demon Mephistopheles, manipulating from afar with intent to drive some darkened sense of doubt into the girls, for them to see the world differently than they did, with their misguided hope placed in the wrong hands...

...Indeed, all Professor could do was add another voice to the argument, one that didn't do anything, he couldn't even assert his position as a father, mostly because he could not see himself properly as one. All he did was stand between the two.

And for the entire day, Bubbles felt at least someone was out there to listen, and that was partially true, even if, for the moment, their intentions were less than noble.

The second argument was worse than the first, and once again, Utonium was merely a statue between the two, muttering useless phrases and making it worse, as Bubbles sought solace in her room, trying to persuade Octi to speak again, wanting that sweet, comforting voice back to keep her safe, to be there for her when nobody else was.

"STUPID little girl..."

Bubbles recognized that voice, it was not the first time she had heard it...

* * *

Utonium had sent the girls to bed one night, it had only been a few days, and he wondered how much they were different from humans, if they understood him, if they were worthy of being his companions. He had called earlier for Bubbles, the one who had been his favorite, and just now she was wandering through the darkness of the house, searching out the Professor. He waited in the darkness of his lab, anticipating a night of experiments, of testing limits, of tasting perfection. And when she finally found the door, had finally entered, and was in front of him in her little pajamas, he took her in his hands, only thinking of what the night had in store, and of himself.

"...Don't touch her, you have no right..." a voice cut through the darkness, the colors of flames lighting the dim room and its darkness for only a second, and that one second was what Bubbles needed to see the needles, the bindings, the blades, and every other utensil that Utonium intended to employ that night to explore what was the bounds of the perfection that he had created. She immediately squirmed, yet he still held her without intent of letting her go just yet.

"...Don't mind HIM. He's not involved with this- GAK!"

Bubbles was shocked as her father was knocked to the other side of the room, his grip broken of her, and she floated away to the door quickly, hovering there to catch a glimpse of the figure, a frightening spirit in red with claws, and she would not be surprised if it was one of the monsters under the bed that Buttercup spoke so often of to frighten her. The creature pointed at Utonium, growling at him simply, with the darkest voice she could never imagine...

"...If you ever touch her like that again, I will kill you."

Bubbles was young, and did not understand why any of this was happening, but she did understand that she should flee now for the safety of her room, and that she should never be without light at night ever again. This moment could not be relived. Whatever that thing was...Him...That was what she knew the creature as now...It had threatened to kill her father, and she only understood that It did not want her father touching her, and she would never understand why.

* * *

"I know you, you're HIM!"

The thing that had taken over Octi confirmed that, and then went off to destroy the world. Bubbles decided that it was something to fear, and ran off after it to learn about it, to find out the truth about that night...

"STOP...You USED me!"

"Oh, is that what I did?" It spoke nonchalantly, still with that tauntingly comforting voice that unnerved and worried her.

"That wasn't fair!"

"No, it isnt...Neither is THIS!" it demanded, grabbing her with an arm, and she screamed.

At the moment it seemed as if it wanted to eat her, but that wasn't exactly it. The arm only held her where she was, the thing that had spoken was angry, but she felt it was not at her, and she still felt that horrible confusion, and she remained silent as she looked at Octi with some sense of pity. Then she saw her sisters there, just floating, and as the arm shook her, perhaps trying to put some sense into her, she screamed again. Her sisters were going to save her from this thing, and for that she was glad, even though the thing that held her, HIM, seemed reluctant to let go.

She giggled as the girls brought her home, but even so, she still stole a glance back to the dissipating creature engulfed in flames as it had been before.

The creature dissolved into the air with an expression of tortured tragedy, of depression and sadness, and it truly looked as if it missed having that small semblance of company, someone to talk to. For that, she resolved to keep Octi, even though he would probably never speak again, and she would hold him just as tight as she had before.

* * *

On their 'seventh' birthday, as she had reached the physical maturity of a human seven-year-old now, as when she had been created she had first come into existence as a five-year-old, Bubbles and her sisters had gotten presents, and even then she had treated Octi as if it was his birthday too, using his little arms to open the gifts, a tea set for pretend teatimes, a bottle of bubbles, and many other presents. That day was wonderful, and as soon as the sun started to set, she brought the play tea set inside excitedly, sitting all her toys around to play with it.

Blossom was off reading a book she had been given, and Buttercup hated fake tea parties. So all she had was her toys.

As she poured the nonexistent tea, she almost dropped the teapot as Octi raised his own teacup timidly with two arms. She froze.

Octi said nothing, but that stitched-on mouth smiled slightly, and those eyes glittered as it raised the cup higher. And she knew who had given her this present, even if it didn't make much sense, she smiled and continued pouring imaginary tea. This time, Octi would not talk, but at least she knew she had someone to listen to her, and that she wasn't alone.

And Octi seemed to find happiness in that too, the glittering eyes squinting shut slightly as that stitched smile became slightly broader.


End file.
